


Spiralis & Procedere

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Harry Potter, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, F/M, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Recovery, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Ron Weasley-centric, Sex, vent fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:00:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25081270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Ron was never the best at dealing with emotions. So when Eighth Year comes around, stupid things he thought he’d forgotten about seem to matter quite a bit. Stupid things his stupid self should have forgotten almost a stupid year ago. Stupid Malfoy Manor.
Relationships: Ginny Weasley/Original Female Character(s), Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Ron Weasley/Fenrir Greyback
Comments: 35
Kudos: 68





	1. July 31st

**Author's Note:**

> The underage tag is in reference to non - consensual sexual activity. Any other references to sex or sexual content is between 17+ year olds.

  
Ron woke up with a start. He’d heard something, he could’ve sworn he’d heard something, but as he woke up more he couldn’t remember what and by the time his wand was in his hand he couldn’t remember why he’d even felt the need to grab it in the first place. Putting it back under his pillow, he laid back down and rubbed his face, trying to shake that feeling that something bad was going to happen.

  
“Bad dream?” Harry whispered, voice barely registering above the creaking of the ghoul in the attic.

  
“Dunno,” he replied, turning to look at Harry. “You?”

  
Harry said nothing, but Ron could see he was still awake. Moonlight streamed in from his window, lighting up his face, and Ron realized with a start that Harry was crying.

  
“Harry?” he asked again, more cautiously. This time he was rewarded with a choking noise from Harry’s side of the room. He sat up, now fully concerned.

  
“Harry, mate, please talk to me.” He wrung his hands anxiously. Harry hadn’t talked much about the war since Fred’s funeral. It was like he’d just clammed up, refusing to talk about it in anything but the driest of terms. He sounded like bloody Professor Binns whenever he talked about it, voice flat and droning.

  
“It-” Harry started, but he broke off, voice choking up.

  
“It’s just-” he tried again, sniffing.

  
“They’re all dead. Because of me.” said Harry, practically spitting the end out. The abrupt rage Harry showed when talking about himself took Ron aback, and he didn’t say anything for a moment. He wasn’t surprised, per say, that Harry felt like that, he’d implied it casually enough over the years, but he’d never directly admitted to actually believing in the ridiculous notion. He almost seemed to take it as fact that it was his fault.

  
“I fucking killed them,” Harry whispered from across the room, before descending into sobs. Ron hesitated for a moment (Merlin he was shite at this emotions thing) before getting out of bed and walking over to where Harry was sat up sobbing.

  
“Scooch,” he whispered, and for all that he was upset Harry complied and let Ron sit next to him while he sobbed.

  
He felt quite awkward sitting next to Harry while he cried, mainly because he’d never really seen him cry. Not like this anyway. He also didn’t much know what to do with his hands. He never knew what to do with his stupid big hands. Despite living in a close-knit family for years, he’d always been a bit awkward when it came to crying. He was always the one that ran and got Mum when somebody was injured, the whole comfort thing was more Fred’s-

  
He cut that thought short, thinking about Fred still too painful. He couldn’t quite reconcile Fred, pale and dead in the Great Hall with Fred, his older brother who would kneel next to you and make sure you were alright even if him and George had been the ones to mess you up in the first place. And now here was his best friend, his first real friend, crying because he thought he was somehow responsible for Fred.

  
“I’m gonna hug you, yeah?” he whispered to Harry. Harry sucked in a shuddering breath and nodded, so Ron reached over and wrapped his arms around him awkwardly. Harry leaned into him silently, and they sat that way for a bit. Harry was still crying, albeit silently, which he could tell by the uncomfortable dampness on his shoulder.

  
He patted Harry’s back in what he hoped was a reassuring way (he was so worthless at this) and tried to think of what to say. Hermione would know what to say. She just had that way about her, that eloquence, when it came to rationalizing the irrational. Ron had never had that.

  
Finally, swallowing over the sudden lump in his throat, he said quietly, “It’s not you know. Your fault that is.”

  
Harry stilled in his arms, but Ron pressed on.

  
“They died in a horrible war fought by a crazy, crazy bastard that came after you for some stupid prophecy another crazy made. You can’t blame yourself because people fought against He-Who- I mean, uh, Vol-Voldemort. It’s his fault, not yours. We all have free will and all that yeah? They could’ve chosen not to fight. Hell, plenty of people stayed out of it. We all wanted to defeat him, same as you. Don’t try to guilt yourself into some stupid ... stupid guilty feeling because it’s just utter bollocks, saying that your at fault, yeah. It’s just as much your fault as it is, is… is Hannah Abbott’s fault, yeah?”

  
Harry pulled away from Ron and buried his face in his hands.

  
“Harry, you all right?” he asked, concerned.

  
Harry wiped his nose on the sleeve of his pajamas and then let out a harsh laugh.

  
“It’s just,” he tried, before dissolving into giggles.

  
“It’s just,” he restarted, “d’you remember third year, when she was convinced Padfoot was a bush.”

  
It was such a stupid, absurd thing to bring up right now, that despite himself, Ron felt himself starting to smile. Harry laughed once more, and Ron snorted, and pretty soon they were in hysterics.

  
“A bush, oh god,” Harry wheezed, and Ron almost fell off the bed in his laughter. This was fucked, but it was so stupid because Harry had been so upset but oh god, a bush.

  
Eventually, they calmed down and lay there side by side, catching their breath.

  
“I guess I am being pretty self- centered, huh? Thinking every single death is my fault.”

  
“Self - centered, I dunno. Incredibly stupid and irrational, yeah.”

  
Harry rubbed his hands over his face.

  
“Ohhh, god Ron, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  
“Nothing’s wrong with you mate, we all have that PSD thing ‘Mione’s always going on about. Plus you already blame yourself for everything anyway.”

  
“Yeah, well 17 years of the Dursleys will do that to you,” he says, laughing slightly. Ron sees red for a minute, a lightning bolt of fury crashing through him as he thinks of how absolutely small Harry looked that one summer they had gone and rescued him. He swallows it back, knowing that Harry will clam up the second he mentions the Dursleys in any negative light to them.

  
“How are they anyway,” he tries, but there must be something in his voice because Harry looks at him strangely before responding.

  
“I dunno, I suppose they’re back on Privet Drive by now. Dudley wrote me, said he heard that I killed Voldemort and said congratulations for that. I don’t think he really understands any of it, but he seemed genuine. I was thinking of writing back.”

  
Harry was thinking of writing him back?? Dudley Dursley, his fat arse cousin who almost got Harry arrested in fifth year? Ron struggled to think of something to say, but his face must have betrayed him before he could speak.

  
“I know you don’t think much of the Dursley’s and all, but Dudley seems to not be a prick anymore. I dunno, maybe it’s worth seeing if he’s not like his mum and dad. I don’t have much family left you know. Well, blood family that is,” said Harry. Ron stared at Harry for a moment.

  
“You’re so bloody forgiving, it’s almost a character flaw.” Harry laughed at that.

  
“Hey, don’t knock my complex. Besides, Dudley was just a kid, really. I dunno, it’s not like I particularly want to talk to him or anything, I just feel kinda bad ignoring him since he reached out. He hasn’t really been a git or anything for years now.”

  
“See, complex once again. The Hat definitely sorted you right, noble bloody Gryffindor.”

  
“Piss off,” Harry replied, laughing.

  
“I dunno,” said Harry after a moment. “I mean the Dursley’s were… they were uh, not nice, I guess, but they didn’t have to take me in or anything. I mean Dumbledore pretty much forced me on them, so you can’t really blame them for not… I dunno. I dunno where I was going with that, sorry, forget I said anything.”

  
Ron was silent for a moment.

  
“I don’t,” Ron started, unsure what to say exactly. Harry never talked about the Dursleys, but he knew they were horrible to him. He was always so thin when he came back to school after summer holiday. It didn’t take an idiot to realize Harry’s relatives were the worst sort of Muggles.

  
“They kept you in a room with bars on the window and - and starved you mate, and I know you don’t like talking about what it was like living with them but you can’t excuse any of that. You can’t excuse them being horrible to you for years because they had to take you in. You’re their nephew for God’s sake, they shouldn’t have done that to you.” Fuck. He’d gone too far, he knew he’d gone too far as soon as he mentioned Harry being their nephew.

  
Harry was silent, and for a second Ron was so absolutely sure he’d messed everything up that he felt sick.

  
“They kept me in a cupboard,” said Harry, in a voice barely above a whisper and Ron froze. Harry swallowed thickly beside him, not meeting his eyes.

  
“There was this broom cupboard under the stairs and I slept there and got locked in there until I was 11 and I got my first Hogwarts letter. Then I got to sleep in Dudley’s second bedroom because they thought the wizards were going to come for them for making me sleep in a fucking cupboard.” Harry paused again, clearing his throat.

  
“That was why when I first came to Hogwarts I couldn’t sleep with the curtains closed. I remember you said something about it, and I told you to piss off then ‘cause you were my first friend and I didn’t want you to know I was a freak that slept in a cupboard.”

  
Harry laughed again, wiping his face.

  
“God why am I crying, I don’t know why this stuff bothers me anymore since it was all ages ago anyway.”

  
Ron swallowed hard against the lump that had formed in his throat. He remembered that conversation with Harry, in first year, when he’d been teasing him about it and Harry had suddenly gotten quiet and stormed off into the bathroom. He’d been so confused. He knew what it was like to care too much about things you shouldn’t give a thought to.

  
“You’re not a freak,” Ron said suddenly, because he didn’t know what else to say to Harry.

  
“You’re not a freak,” he said again, quieter, and suddenly Harry burst out sobbing again, hiding his face in his hands.

  
“ ‘M gonna rub your back mate, alright?” Ron asked. Harry drew in a breath and let out a strangled OK before bursting into tears again. Ron reached out and patted his back, drawing comforting circles like Fred used to do. He didn’t think he was doing a very good job at it. He was worthless, worthless at knowing what to say and when to say it and sometimes he wondered if it wouldn’t have been better if he’d been the one to die instead of Fred. He was so utterly average in comparison to everyone around him.

  
Finally Harry stopped crying and straightened up, leaning back against the bedframe.

  
“Thanks, for that. I don’t - I -” Ron cut him off.

  
“You don’t have to explain to me.”

  
“Thanks,” said Harry, drawing in a deep breath. They sat together in comfortable silence for a few minutes before Harry broke it.

  
“You always do that.”

  
“Do what?” Ron replied, confused.

  
“You always ask, before touching me, or someone else. Ever since… ever since the Deatheaters got us, really,” he said, and Ron felt his mouth go dry. His head started buzzing as panic set in.

  
“I um, uh,” he said thickly, and swallowed back that gross feeling that always popped up whenever he thought about that incident at the Manor.

  
“It’s just, uhm, courteous, right,” he lied, hoping against hope Harry wouldn’t press it any further because he couldn’t lie effectively to Harry about anything, and he knew that if Harry pressed he’d figure it out.

  
He couldn’t look at him, because then he would know that Harry knew he was lying, and at the moment he didn’t want to know that Harry knew he wasn’t telling the truth.

  
“You can- you can talk to me about it, if you like you know,” he said, and Ron wanted to cry for a moment because he didn’t have any idea why he couldn’t talk about this.

  
Ron sat in silence, trying to think of something, anything, he could say to Harry to tell him without telling him.

  
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said after what must have been an eternity, his voice hoarse, and that in itself made him feel ill because that was what his voice had sounded like after-

  
“Not right now, at least,” he said, but what he really wanted to say was not ever, he was never going to talk about that ever again with anyone because really all everybody would do is freak out or pity him or think other things because the whole scenario of it was so messed up. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, can’t let Harry know what happened because Harry already blames himself for too much and he can’t tell Hermione either because she would definitely blame herself and he refuses to do that to them, to make them feel guilt over something he… did? Was forced to do? Happened to him? That he let happen? The whole thing makes his head hurt and makes him feel sick like somehow he did something wrong, committed a crime, and he can’t get that nagging idea that maybe he shouldn’t have done what he did and if he tells people everybody will think all those things Greyback had said while Ron had been doing that thing he did. All those things Greyback had said that sometimes Ron thinks are true about himself.

  
God, he’s so disgusting. It’s not like that’s a new thought to him, but ever since he did that thing to? With? Greyback he can’t get it out of his head how disgusting he is. He looks in the mirror and everything almost distorts and food tastes like cardboard because everything looks blown up and distorted and wrong but he has to keep eating like he always does because he refuses to even admit something’s wrong. But Ron is just average, he’s always been so average that he doesn’t even know how to talk about anything upsetting to begin with, plus this constant disgust with himself ties in with that other thing he can’t ever tell them about so he just doesn’t know what to do because oh Merlin he’s so gross-

  
A tear rolls down his face and he quickly presses his face into his hand, pressing into his eyes until he sees spots because he really, really can’t let Harry realize how incredibly … something he is. He can’t remember the word for it, and suddenly all he can think of is Hermione berating him over not having the world’s most expansive vocabulary like the prat she is. He bites back a smile and straightens up, wiping the tear off his face to realize the sun’s rising.

  
“Shite, the sun’s coming up, you wanna try and get some sleep?” Ron asks.

  
“Nah, I’ll never get back to sleep now,” says Harry, stretching his legs out in front of him. With a grin, Ron slides off Harry’s bed and digs around under his own. He pulls the gift from under his bed and throws it at Harry, who yelps.

  
“Happy birthday, you great git,” he smiles as Harry scrambles to hold the wrapped package. Ron stands up and plops back on his own bed to watch Harry unwrap his gift. Before he does, though, Harry looks up at Ron and smiles.

  
“Thank you. For this,” he says, and Ron knows just what Harry really means by that. He smiles uncomfortably and tells Harry to open his gift already.


	2. Return to Hogwarts

Getting on the train to Hogwarts was a special kind of hell. Hermione had cried, a rare occurrence that made Ron want to hug her and hurt whatever and whoever had made her feel that way. Of course, insane rage wasn't the best possible reaction, so Harry had been the one to successfully calm her down while Ron had rubbed her back. Ron was stupidly somewhat jealous that Harry had been the one to calm Hermione down, but Harry was always better at saying the right thing. It was all the PSD, probably.

Harry had it bad over the summer at the Burrow. Everybody did, probably, he supposed, but because Harry was his best friend and slept in his room he noticed most. How he couldn’t even meet George’s eyes. How he’d politely excuse himself from meals far too early and cause Mum to go silent for a bit too long after he left. Ron always brought him up a muffin, or a roll, some sort of bread after he left and Harry never ate it but Ron really didn’t know what to  _ do _ because his best friend had been through hell and he couldn’t fix it. They hadn’t talked about the war’s impact on either of them since before the Battle of Hogwarts, until the night of Harry’s birthday.

After that, Harry had been staying longer at meals. He had even hugged George goodbye at the train station. He was getting better.

Hermione had been getting better too. Of course she’d always handled things better than him and Harry had, but she also bottled things up a lot. Ron knew that about her and they’d talked about the war over the summer. The first “talk” had actually been a screaming match where they’d yelled over chores and she’d used a lot of confusing metaphors, but after that she’d opened up to him without the excessive yelling and ominous language. She told him how sometimes she woke up still screaming from nightmares about the torture she’d suffered at Malfoy Manor. How scared she was when Ron left because she thought he was going to die. The sheer terror she’d felt when the Polyjuice had worn off in Gringotts. Ron knew all of her troubles and trauma and fears, and despite his mother’s best attempts at keeping them apart, they’d grown closer because of it. Of course, the talking wasn’t entirely one-sided. He’d shared some of his crap too. Some of it.

As for himself, he really didn’t know if he was better or not. Thinking about Fred didn’t make him want to punch a hole in the wall anymore, but thinking about him left a hollow feeling in his chest. He hadn’t realized just how big of a presence Fred and George were in his life until it was just George left. It almost hurt more to think about George without Fred in the equation, like it was a betrayal to Fred’s memory. He didn’t really know if the hollow feeling was better than the rage.

Everybody had grown closer at the Burrow after the war. ‘Mione said it was “trauma-bonding”, which was clearly something out of the Muggle psychology books she’d been reading since after the war, but he didn’t particularly care what it was called. It was just nice. For once in his life he felt like he was important. He liked being noticed, but it had come at such a terrible price that he didn’t have the heart to truly think too deeply about why his parents always wanted to talk to him.

Actually seeing Hogwarts, somehow whole even after everything that had happened, was mind-numbing. He’d read the stories about the repairs, of course. The Room of Requirement was gone, destroyed in the Fiendfyre Crabbe had set off. The Great Hall had been entirely rebuilt. Hagrid’s hut was no more. He knew all this, yet actually seeing it shook him in a way he didn’t fully understand, as if some little part of him had been ripped out and put back in wrong.

The worst change was the now - visible thestrals. He understood how horrified Harry must have been when he’d seen them that first day back in 5th year. Luna somehow sensed Ron’s own trepidation at actually getting in the carriages and quietly assured him that she and him were quite the same, and that the thestrals were really quite gentle. It was probably the same exact thing she had said to Harry all those years ago. Luna was creepily observant at times. He didn’t like that she had sensed his discomfort.

The ride to the castle was spent mostly in silence, punctuated only by Neville’s slight panic when the castle had come into view. Ginny had quietly talked him down, and it hit Ron like a brick how truly horrid the Carrow’s must have been for those who stayed. Ginny hadn’t spoken about it too much with him, but then, she tended to go quiet when things bothered her. She’d hardly even spoken the summer after 2nd year, when she’d almost died in the Chamber. Too many people Ron cared about had almost died at Hogwarts. Or simply … died. 

He felt a familiar ache return to his chest as he stared at Hogwarts looming closer. This was where he had lived for 6 years of his life, met his best friend and girlfriend, and learned everything useful he’d ever needed to know. It was also where Fred and Lavender and Professor Lupin and Tonks and even that little twerp that had been so obsessed with Harry, Colin Creevey, had died. Hogwarts held some of the best and worst memories of his life. As the carriage rolled to a stop, he wondered if he would ever be able to once again think of it as a place he belonged.

Professor McGonagal’s voice rang through the crowd, calling for the 8th years to gather around her before heading in. It broke Ron out of the fog that had set over him since first arriving at Hogsmeade Station. He stood up to walk after the others, until he realized that Hermione was still seated in the carriage. She stared at the castle, slack-jawed.

“Hermione?” he asked quietly. She turned to look at him, eyes slightly shiny. 

“We’ve lost so much,” she whispered. Ron suddenly wanted to scream, to simply let out all the pain that had been building inside him. He couldn’t even breathe for a moment, it hurt so bad, and he found himself swallowing back tears of his own.

“I know,” he said simply. What comfort could he possibly give her in that moment? What else was there to say? He didn’t know how to deal with all the loss himself. She met his eyes for a second, before breaking away and taking a deep breath.

“Take my hand, we’ll go together,” he said, offering his hand up to her. Hermione took another shaky breath before grasping Ron’s hand and allowing him to help her leave the carriage. Hand in hand, they walked to where the other 8th year Gryffindors had clustered around McGonagall. As they made their way over, Ron glanced back at the thestral that had pulled their cart. It stared back with coal black eyes, judging him, like it knew some terrible secret about Ron that even he himself did not want to admit to. Quickly he turned away to meet the other Gryffindor 8th years, trying to shake the sudden disquiet the thestral had given him. He squeezed Hermione’s hand for comfort.

Dean and Seamus appeared to be once more reattached at the hip, standing way closer to each other than any of the other non-couples. They had always been closer to each other than any of the other’s in their year. Lily Moon had returned from wherever she had been hiding during the war, but Sophie Roper had not. Nobody mentioned Lavender’s absence, although everyone must have been acutely aware of it. 

McGonagall broke up the nervous chatter with a clap of her hands, causing around half of the people gathered to wince. McGonagall seemed to take no notice of this, and began her speech.

“Welcome to our 8th year students. Many of you either entirely missed your 7th year at Hogwarts, or were unable to sit your NEWTs, which is why I have invited you back to attend school for another year. I understand that this is going to be … difficult for everyone here to do, and that is why I have decided to make it absolutely clear what behavior will and will not be tolerated here before you step through these doors,” McGonagall hesitated, before pressing on.

“Any one of you that is caught causing harm to Slytherin students will automatically lose 50 house points.” She paused, as if expecting protests to erupt, but none did. Out of the corner of his eye, Ron saw Seamus clench his fists. It was good to see that Seamus, at least, was still as hot-headed as ever. That was one thing that seemed unlikely to change.

“Those students asked to return to Hogwarts are those found to have been coerced or simply not guilty of the crimes committed by others during the war. It does not matter what side we fought on. The war is over. I expect you all, as 8th years, to not perpetuate the harmful stereotypes that have infiltrated this school in recent years. You must act as examples to the younger students.

Secondly, there are peer support groups and private therapy sessions freely available for all 8th years. These are not mandatory, and all participants can expect full anonymity. Thirdly, as the library is still under reconstruction, those wishing to take out books must speak with Madame Pince in her temporary office, on the second floor. I must ask that you do not enter the library, as it would greatly delay reconstruction processes were anyone to enter. I assure you all, there are no secret magical objects or creatures hidden within the destroyed library. I am not my predecessor, and am not in the habit of hiding important or dangerous items around the school where they might be accessed by students.” Ron might’ve imagined it, but he could’ve sworn McGonagall had looked at Harry for a moment before moving on. He exchanged a glance with Hermione beside him, who smiled in quiet bemusement, clearly having seen what Ron had and drawing the same conclusion.

“You will be allowed to leave the grounds and foray into Hogsmeade at any given weekend, and, as you are all legally adults, I cannot stop you from bringing alcohol onto the premises. However, if I see a single one of you drunk, do not imagine I will in any way hesitate to take points. This is still a school. Please, go inside, and enjoy the feast. I hope we can all move forward together in peace this school year.”

He turned to walk inside, and saw Hogwarts once more, towering above in all her splendor. Hermione squeezed his hand and they made their way up the stairs, Harry close behind them. He felt surrounded by those who shared in his grief. It helped, somewhat, with the unshakable sorrow that had sunk over them as they walked inside. He let go of Hermione’s hand and sat down at the Gryffindor table once inside the Great Hall. Harry slid in across from him. This was where the body’s of the dead had lain, strewn about like pale, sleeping children.

The sorting happened, and McGonagall said some words, but he witnessed it all distantly, like a different person. There was not much small talk among those who had been in the battle. The entire Hall was quieter than usual, although the ghosts did their best to add a sense of normalcy to the meal.

Ron ate mechanically, barely tasting the food in front of him. Harry simply sat and stared at his empty plate, and despite Ginny’s urgings, would not, or perhaps could not, eat. Ron threw a bread roll at him after 10 minutes of Ginny becoming increasingly hysterical, which he somehow caught in midair. Ron grinned, feeling a sliver of the joy he had once felt at returning to Hogwarts.

“Seeker instincts still intact I see.” Harry smiled softly at that.

“C’mon mate, at least eat a bit of bread,” Ron tried, more worried than he was willing to let on. Harry tended to go off his food, and it wasn’t as if he had much left to lose at this point.

“Alright,” Harry muttered, tearing a piece off and shoving it in his mouth.

“Happy?” he asked, mouth full. Ron rolled his eyes and turned back to his food. It suddenly struck him exactly how much he had eaten. His plate was almost empty, and he must have filled it near to bursting, if the sudden lead feeling in his stomach was any indication. He ate the rest slowly, but every bite felt like air inflating him up like a human balloon. By the time he was done, he felt like he would vomit if he took another bite. He glanced at Harry, who had thankfully eaten a little more food, and Hermione, who was now talking with Parvati Patil after finishing her own meal. How had his food measured up to theirs? He hadn’t eaten any more than he normally did… right?

The plates cleared and dessert was suddenly before them. He made himself a plate, but as he stared at the pudding before him he suddenly realized he couldn’t take a bite. He was vaguely aware of the light conversation carrying on around him, but he felt glued to the piece of food on his plate. He was sure that he would throw up if he ate it, but he was sure people would worry if he did not, so what-

“You didn’t eat anything.”

“Hmmm?” Ron turned to see Hermione looking at him with a worried expression. Before he could respond, McGonagall stood and dismissed them all. He must have spaced out longer than he realized.

The hall erupted into noise as everyone stood up.

“Why didn’t you eat anything?” Hermione asked again, walking out beside him.

“Piss off, Hermione, I ate,” he brushed her off.

“No, you didn’t, you didn’t eat your dessert!” she cried, beginning to wring her hands anxiously.

“I’m just not feeling well, Hermione, it’s nothing to worry about,” he said.

“Not feeling well? Got spattergroit again, have you?” said Harry, swinging his arm around Ron’s back. Ron started slightly, then laughed it off.

“Ron didn’t eat his dessert,” said Hermione quite seriously. Harry turned to him with a look of exaggerated offense on his face.

“And you go off on  _ me _ , for skipping a meal or two? Hypocrite.” Ron scoffed and pushed him off.

“Why’re you ganging up on me anyways. You never go off on  _ Harry _ when he doesn’t eat,” said Ron, fixing Hermione with a fake glare.

“Harry has a borderline eating disorder he refuses to get help for,  _ you _ have no excuse,” Hermione replied drily. Harry gasped indignantly.

“Hey! I do not have a bloody eating disorder!”

“Whatever you say, manorexic,” said Hermione, a slight smile coming on her face. Harry sputtered for a second, then turned to Ron for help.

“Ron!” Ron sucked his teeth as if Harry had just discovered their secret plot against him.

“I dunno mate, you go off many more meals you won’t be able to lift your arm to catch the Snitch.” Harry gaped in disbelief for a moment, looking between Ron and Hermione.

“I don’t -” He stopped then, noticing the smile on their faces. “Oh real mature,” he said, crossing his arms. Ron and Hermione broke down in light laughter. Harry tried to remain angry for a moment before cracking a smile, and joining in their laughter.

“You’re both terrible, making fun of eating disorders…” Harry laughed. The trio began to turn around a corner, before a voice behind them made them stop.

“Potter, wait, wait up!”

Turning around, Ron made eye contact with one of the last people he wanted to see again: Draco Malfoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo, I was wondering if y'all wanted the scene where Hermione and Ron scream at each other at the Burrow or not, bc I've written it but it's honestly kinda bad. If there's demand for it I'll obvi clean it and make it good b4 posting but if nobody cares I'm just gna leave it lol


	3. Draco Malfoy

Panting slightly, Malfoy put his hands on his knees and bent over, trying to catch his breath. Within a second, all three had drawn their wands and pointed them at him. He looked up and raised his arms in surrender.

“Woah, woah, I’m not-” he started, but Harry cut him off.

“What do you want, Malfoy?”

Malfoy glanced between the three quickly.

“I want to apologize,” he said, eyes wide with fear. “To all of you. I have been truly horrible to all of you. I know better now. I was-” Malfoy swallowed here, as if the words didn’t want to come out,” - I was wrong. I was hateful and prejudiced and wrong. I wanted to tell you all that in person. You don’t have to accept I just… I simply want you to know that I’m sorry, for the things I did.”

Ron felt rage bubble up deep inside his gut. How _dare_ Malfoy stand there and have the audacity to _apologize_ to them, after everything he’d done-

“I accept,” said Hermione. Ron turned quickly to look at her as she holstered her wand.

“Hermione!-” he began to protest, but she cut him short.

“I don’t want to hate you. We can’t live like that. The war’s over.”

There was silence among them for a moment.

“Thank you, Granger,” said Malfoy. “I’m sorry about - about my aunt. I should’ve… I should’ve stopped her, or done something or-”

Hermione cut him off.

“You were protecting your family. I get that. I obliviated mine.” There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment, as nobody seemed to know what to say.

“A truce, then?” asked Malfoy, sticking his hand out. Beside him, Harry holstered his wand. Ron turned sharply to glare at Harry, but the expression on his face gave him pause. Stupid forgiving idiot. He was clearly about to agree to a truce with Malfoy of all people.

Hermione stepped forward and shook Malfoy’s hand. They nodded at each other, and Harry stepped forward.

“I don’t hate you, you know. Not anymore, at least,” he said. The two shook hands, and suddenly they were all looking at Ron. He felt squashed beneath the pressure of their eyes. Now that Harry and Hermione had both agreed to a truce and whatnot he would look like a right git if he didn’t agree as well. With a sigh, he holstered his own wand, and stepped forward to shake Malfoy’s hand. He didn’t _hate_ the Malfoy, after all.

Malfoy’s hand was like ice against his own, and for a second Ron met his eyes. He couldn’t place it, but something about Malfoy’s eyes was deeply off-putting. They were an uncommon shade of blue, something Ron had always hated about him. They shook hands briefly and stepped away from each other. No, Ron didn’t hate the bastard, but he certainly wouldn’t cry if he were to suddenly drop dead. Slimy git. Being in such close proximity to the creep made his skin crawl.

“I owe you all my life. Thank you.” Malfoy bowed to them all deeply, then straightened.

“I am in your debt.” He inclined his head and walked away. Ron knew it was bad form to hex someone with their back turned, but if it hadn’t been for fear of losing House points before the first day, he probably would have done it. He really, truly despised Draco Malfoy.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ron woke up in a cold sweat from a nightmare he desperately wished he didn’t remember. With disgust, he realized that his pants were wet from the dream. Fighting back the bile rising in his throat, he reached out and shakily vanished the mess from his pants. He drew in a deep breath, feeling like someone had sucked the oxygen out of his lungs. He thought he had been doing a good job managing that particular memory. And now he was-

He buried his head in his hands as he replayed Malfoy’s apology from earlier. Anything to think about that wasn’t _that_. Ron heavily suspected the foul git thought he owed a life debt to them, or some such nonsense. The other’s probably hadn’t thought much of it, but his word choice seemed to imply he thought it so. He didn’t want Malfoy to think he owed any sort of debt to Ron. He didn’t want to see the stupid git and his creepy blue eyes ever again.

He flopped back down in bed and stared at the hand Malfoy had shaken. The moment replayed in his head, over and over. Holstering his wand. Shaking his hand. Meeting his eyes. _Meeting his eyes._ Maybe that was why he’d had the dream, because he’d met the smarmy git’s eyes when Greyback had been taking him back into the cellar.

He’d tried to fight back against Greyback once he realized that he was still going to hurt Hermione, despite his assurances that if Ron just did what he did he wouldn’t. Really it was his own fault the stupid thing had happened in the first place, since Greyback was a Death Eater and he shoud’ve known better than to listen to fucking Death Eater’s-

He suddenly felt like he was suffocating by sitting there in bed, surrounded by it all. He stumbled quickly out of bed and into the bathroom. Once sure he was alone, he turned on the faucet and began to splash water on his face, forcing himself to take deep breaths. It felt like no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t quite catch a breath. Despite his best efforts, he felt a tear run down his cheek; he bit back the sob that threatened to break through. He knew that the door was locked and warded; nobody could hear what went on inside. He didn’t want to admit that he was crying over something so stupid.

He could still remember the look on that foul git’s face when he’d seen Ron. He’d heard Hermione screaming, and realized that Greyback was still going to hurt her. He had fought against him with everything he had, but he couldn’t break the bonds. He was so weak, and his mouth tasted salty and bitter no matter how many times he spit. He couldn’t get it off his face, he could feel it on his face, but Hermione was _screaming_ so loudly in the other room and he couldn’t get to her. He couldn’t get to her and it was all his fault, and then Greyback was holding his mouth shut. His fingers were grimy, just like the rest of him, and then as Ron had been struggling to get away from those grimy hands that made it hard to breathe he’d made eye contact with that bastard. Just for a second, but Ron knew Malfoy knew exactly what had happened from the look on his face. He’d been pale, paler than usual, as he stared at Ron, but then his father had whisked him away before anything else could happen with a brief

“Control your prey, Greyback.”

He didn’t want to remember this, but he felt like he was there again, like he was still pressed against Greyback and no matter what he did he couldn’t move, couldn’t stop him as he held him there with his hands over his mouth so he couldn’t scream, couldn’t spit, couldn’t stop them from hurting Hermione and the others, and he _didn’t want to remember this damnit-_

He smashed his head against the wall, hard, and the pain drew him back to reality. He pushed the memory back down, and took a deep breath. He was at Hogwarts, in the bathroom, not in the Manor. Harry and Dean were asleep on the other side of the wall and Hermione was in the girl’s dorm. They were all fine. He flexed his wrists and held them out in front of him, trying to shake the feeling of rope digging into his skin. He sucked in another breath before getting up to face himself in the mirror.

He stared at the reflection, then smiled in morbid amusement. He looked exactly as he felt: pathetic.

“Merlin,” he mumbled to himself as he grabbed a towel and began to rub the snot off his face. Once satisfied that he no longer looked like he’d just had a complete breakdown, he stepped out of the bathroom and tip-toed back to bed. Just as he thought he had safely made it into bed for the night, Harry whispered softly from next to him

“You all right? I heard you get up.”

Ron swore silently at himself for stumbling around like an idiot in the middle of the night before responding.

“Yeah, ‘m fine.” Harry was silent; for a moment Ron thought he had gone back to sleep.

“You sure? You were acting a bit fucky earlier.” Harry was a lot more blunt when he was half-asleep.

“Yeah, fine, just… Hogwarts, you know?” Ron felt horrible lying to him, but then again, it was somewhat the truth. Did it even count as lying if you were sort of telling the truth? The answer was yes, yes it was lying, but he didn’t really want to think about the morality of it all. He wanted to go back to sleep and not dream.

“Yeah, I know,” said Harry. After that there was silence, and soon Ron could hear Harry breathing softly. He wished Malfoy hadn’t returned. With any amount of luck, he would get through the school year with a minimal amount of interaction with him and then never see him again for the rest of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I pinky-swear this isn't a RonxDraco fic Ron literally just despises Draco nd i'm bad at writing non-sexual tension


	4. September 2, 1998

Ron groaned as he read through his class schedule on the morning of the first day.

“Why do we have to take Defense? We were literally in a war, I think we should be good by now,” he said, scanning the rest of the paper.

“It’s so early as well,” Harry groaned, still half asleep. Hermione smirked beside him.

“That’s what you get for taking the Auror prerequisites.” Ron rolled his eyes at her pettiness.

“Right, what’ve you got then.” He leaned over, snatching the parchment out of her hands.

“Hey!” she cried, lunging across Ron and grabbing at it. He held it out of her reach and began to read her class schedule aloud.

“Defense at 800, Ancient Runes at 9:45, Arithmancy at 1300, and then Potions at 14:45?! Blimey Hermione, this is just Monday!” 

“Yeah, well you two are going to have Quidditch practice into all hours of the night if Harry’s still captain of the Quidditch team,” Hermione replied with a huff, snatching the parchment back from Ron’s hand. “Besides, this is nothing compared to third year.” 

Ron shoved a forkful of egg into his mouth before responding.

“Yeah, but that was before we smashed all the Time Turners. Now you’re forced to remain in one time at a time,” he replied, somewhat muffled by the food.

“Oh, gross, Ron, close your mouth when you chew,” said Hermione in mild disgust. Ron shot her an eggy grin to annoy her further. Her mouth twisted in a vague attempt at hiding her amusement before she playfully smacked Ron on the arm.

“Your mother raised you better than this,” she replied lightly. She began plating Harry’s food almost absent-mindedly, tattering on about how ill-mannered Ron was.

From across the table, Harry began to protest.

“Hermione, no I don’t feel well-”

“That is absolute bullshit and you know it. Eat your food,” she said, sternly shoving the half-full plate in front of him. Harry huffed and began to push food around his plate before finally stabbing a forkful of egg and eating it. 

“Happy?” he said sarcastically, smiling with egg mouth.

“Yes, happy,” Hermione replied just as sarcastically. “And it’s just as gross when you speak with your mouth full as it is when Ron does. Honestly, one would think you were both raised by wolves. Where would you be without me and my divine social graces?”

“Oi!” Ron replied, “You lot didn’t even know about the difference between wizard and muggle social graces before you met me. Where would you be without  _ me _ and  _ my _ divine social graces?”

“Somewhere with people who bothered to shut their mouths when they chewed,” Hermione replied drily.

“Chewing with your mouth closed is overrated. Speaking with your mouth full is more efficient.” Hermione’s nostrils flared slightly in that way they always did before she began an argument with Ron.

“You can’t  _ honestly _ think that chewing with your mouth open is any more time effective than chewing with your mouth closed. You’re spewing food particles everywhere, plus food is bound to fall out of your mouth at any given moment, and then you’re stuck scraping half-chewed food into your mouth while you try and finish your food in time for Defense.”

“Why would I eat the half-chewed food?  _ That’s _ what’s truly gross, why would the elite mouth-open chewer waste his time on partially digested drivel. Maximum efficiency, we’re not talking about every last morsel getting scranned here.”

“You admit that you risk spewing food everywhere then? What kind of  _ etiquette _ is it to spew food everywhere?”

“Hermione, if I’m forced to sit with absolute bottom - feeders, otherwise known as the less-intelligent-” at this Hermione scoffed, trying not to interrupt Ron “- just generally less- evolved people who chew with their mouths closed, I suppose the food spewing could be considered not, the  _ height _ of social grace, but when with other elite -”

“OK, no!” Hermione butted in, finally interrupting Ron’s ridiculous tirade. “What kind of lobotomite thinks that chewing with your mouth open is some sort of moral high ground? You -”

Ron interrupted her. “I didn’t claim any sort of moral high ground!”

“Yes, but you-”

“I think you’re both barking mad,” Harry interrupted, clearly sensing the rising tension. Ron and Hermione paused and looked around for a moment, realizing the people around them had turned to watch the rising exchange. They had gotten rather loud.

“Er-” Ron tried, looking for some excuse for why they had been arguing, before Hermione burst into laughter. Relieved, Ron laughed with her, as he realized how ridiculous the entire argument had been. How had he been genuinely upset over table etiquette he knew he was wrong about just moments before?

“That’s got to be a record for the dumbest thing you two have argued about,” said Harry with a smile. 

“Yeah, Merlin, I’m sorry, Hermione, you’re right, it’s disgusting,” Ron conceded with a sheepish grin. Hermione rolled her eyes and smiled at him.

“Of course I’m right, when have I ever not been right?” Harry snorted.

“Uh, remember when in 2nd year-”

“I’m afraid I must interrupt you there, Mr. Weasley,” said Septima Vector, placing a hand on his shoulder. He hated that she felt like it was OK to touch him, but he didn’t move away. She was an instructor after all. And, if he recalled correctly from the hazy dinner last night that he barely remembered, she was now Head of Gryffindor House. She hadn’t addressed the house last night or anything, and he didn’t know her very well, seeing as she taught Arithmancy. Her hand was on his shoulder.

“Professor Vector,” Hermione breathed, vaguely attempting to pat her hair down. It was a fruitless attempt, as her hair bounced right back into it’s natural state.

“Miss Granger,” the older witch acknowledged with a smile.

“I came to say that you two will both be required to re-try out for the Gryffindor Quidditch team if you intend to play this year. I’ll be running the team a little differently from now on. I’ve already informed most of the other players; I do hope you both understand. It’s simply a matter of personal preference,” she said with a smile. Ron wondered idly why Hermione would try out for Quidditch, before realizing she was addressing Harry and himself. Her hand was on his shoulder and it was rather distracting. He didn’t particularly like people touching his shoulders anymore, not without asking.

Across the table, Harry smiled and thanked her for telling them. She patted Ron’s shoulder and then walked away. His skin prickled uncomfortably where she had touched him, and he fought off the urge to rub his shoulder.

Harry slumped across from him.

“What was that you were saying about us having Quidditch practice into all hours of the night, Hermione?” Harry asked sarcastically. Ron groaned as his hopes of playing Keeper in his final year were dashed. As he slumped back over his food with a sarcastic groan, he missed the quick glance Harry and Hermione exchanged behind his back. Ron was off, and neither of them knew quite how to address it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is more of a fluff scene, to establish dynamics between the Golden Trio in a not-high stress situation, since I haven't really done that yet. Pinky swear there will be Romione scene's later on in this fic, I will not be neglecting wholesome moments !!! Also som1 pls give me a suggestion for the name of the DADA professor, I physically can't make myself do any more research into niche character's and i'm bad at making up oc's that don't reek of raven-darkness-dementia-way energy


End file.
